


it's not a competition (but we're winning)

by highflyer101



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, School Reunion, based on a HONY post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:03:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6248260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highflyer101/pseuds/highflyer101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About a month into his relationship with Grantaire, Enjolras receives an invitation to his tenth high school reunion. About of a month into his relationship with Grantaire, R starts acting weird. </p><p>Based on a Humans of New York post. Grantaire starts to deal with his drinking problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's not a competition (but we're winning)

**Author's Note:**

> First ExR fic, which is frankly shocking given how much I love these two dorks. 
> 
> Here is the HONY post it's inspired by: http://www.humansofnewyork.com/post/89514030901/when-i-told-my-mom-that-i-was-going-to-rehab-she

Enjolras would not describe himself as a particularly petty person, nor would he say he's vain. He's proud of his accomplishments, as he should be, but he does his best to stay self-aware: his contributions to society are minimal at best; there's so, so much left to do. Yet he can't deny the little rush of adrenaline that runs through him when he opens the invitation to his tenth high school reunion and imagines telling the close-minded, arrogant assholes in his class about his life now, which is pretty damn impressive.

"Hang on," Grantaire asks when he hears about the reunion. "Are you actually _excited_ for this? I thought it was like, an unspoken rule that no one really wants to go to those things." He's rummaging in Enjolras' fridge, having stayed over the night before, a concept that, a month and a half into the relationship, still makes him feel kind of dizzily happy. "I guess rules never mattered to you anyway, though."

"It'll just be good to prove them wrong," Enjolras admits, not bothering to hide his ulterior motivations. "I'd like to see what Kirk Roberts, raging homophobe, has accomplished in the last ten years." He's aware that a slightly vicious grin has found its way onto his face, but, again, he can't bring himself to care. Besides, Grantaire is chuckling fondly at his vengeful streak.

"You'll wipe the floor with them, Apollo," he agrees, dropping a kiss onto his boyfriend's curls. "Those plebeians won't stand a chance."

Enjolras rolls his eyes in mock exasperation and tries his best not to focus on the beer can that has appeared in R's hand. Once, he wouldn't have missed this opportunity to point out that it's only 10:30, way too early to need a drink, that's a problem, that should be fixed. But he's grown more sensitive over time, especially since he realized his feelings for Grantaire. First of all, it's become clear that his nagging has always had the opposite effect: rather than making Grantaire think twice before taking a sip, it only encourages him, both because he lives to be contrary and because he needs something to drown the shame. Secondly, it's increasingly obvious that Grantaire already knows everything anyone could tell him about his drinking problem. They haven't had a serious conversation about it yet - although Enjolras secretly hopes they'll have one soon - but Grantaire's self-disgust is visible in little ways, like how he refuses to make eye contact with anyone when he orders a drink at brunch, or when he angles his body like he's trying to hide his flask from people's sight.

These thoughts aren't pleasant, exactly, and Enjolras is irrationally afraid that Grantaire will be able to sense the direction his mind is taking and retreat to escape judgment. Stupidly, he feels the need to remind his boyfriend that he's proud of him, that he still feels honored that they're in a relationship at all, and, in an attempt to convey this, he blurts, "They won't believe that we're together when they meet you."

He hoped this would allay Grantaire's constant self-consciousness and anxiety, but it seems like his words have hurt far more than they helped. R stiffens, his fingers clenching on Enjolras' shoulder, and he sways uncertainly for a moment before plastering on a smile.

"Right," he says. "Now, I'd better go. I'm meant to be meeting with Jehan in about," he looks at the clock, "negative three minutes. I'll text you."

Just like that, R is gone.

*

A week later and it feels like R never came back. He has, of course; they've continued to have "sickeningly sweet PDA," as Courf puts it, and their relationship hasn't exactly suffered behind close doors, either. It's just a vibe Enjolras is getting, like the time Courf shifted all his furniture two inches to the right while he was away for the weekend. He can't pinpoint what the problem is, but it's there, nonetheless.

Normally, Enjolras would make a beeline to Combeferre in this type of situation. And he does, initially. It's just that, while Ferre and R are as close as is usual among members of the Amis, he doesn't have the lifetime of experience that, say, Joly or Eponine do. It's for this reason that he finds his eyes drawn to Joly before the meeting, where he's talking in hushed voices to Grantaire himself.

Concern is etched across Joly's face as Grantaire speaks to the floor and fidgets in his seat. The others are either avoiding that side of the room or haven't noticed what's going on. It's all Enjolras can do not to barge over there right then and demand an explanation, but then Combeferre touches his elbow and he remembers himself. They've only been dating for a month; he doesn't have to know everything. More importantly, he shouldn't make Grantaire uncomfortable if something is seriously wrong, and crashing his conversation with Joly would undoubtedly do so.

Bringing himself to start the meeting and stop thinking about Grantaire is a struggle, but he manages it eventually. Throughout the hour, his boyfriend is noticeably quiet, and Enjolras lets the discussion fade a little on the early side, unable to concentrate.

"By the way," he adds as an afterthought. "The meeting in three weeks is gonna have to be cancelled. Grantaire and I are going to my high school reunion."

At this announcement, everyone dissolves into ribbing about their new relationship and stories about their own high school careers. Any other day, Enjolras would expect Grantaire to be at the forefront of it all, talking about elaborate methods to ditch classes or mess with teachers, but, once again, R has disappeared.

Enjolras tries not to be worried.

*

"Joly," Enjolras barks when he's finally had enough of Grantaire disappearing in the middle of conversations and avoiding looking him in the eye. "I need to know if Grantaire is okay."

Standing in the doorway to his apartment, Joly freezes, flicking his eyes from side to side like he's hoping for someone to jump out and save him. He has always been painfully honest, making him rather perfect to get information out of, and Enjolras follows the internal struggle in his eyes as he plans his response.

"R is... fine," he finally answers. "Or he will be." He adds a definitive nod. "That's all I'm gonna say." Enjolras groans.

"He's clearly not happy," he whines. "But I don't know why. Is it something I did, or - "

"No!" Joly interrupts eagerly. "It's not you; I can promise you that it's not you." Enjolras relaxes, but only a little. If he's not the problem, how can he try and fix it? He opens his mouth to press harder, but Joly shoves a hand over his mouth.

"Enjolras, I want to help, but I really, really can't say anything," he explains. "Please, just talk to him yourself, okay?"

He closes the door in Enjolras' face.

*

Grantaire is an excellent bullshitter; this is known. (In fact, he once claimed that his personality was "90% bullshit, 10% self-loathing," which irritated Enjolras for way too many reasons to count, not the least of which being his obvious self-esteem issues.) Anyway, for someone so confident in their ability to deflect and avoid and lie, he's doing a pretty crappy job of it.

Enjolras has just asked him if everything is okay, and he is practically twitching. His eyes are flying all over the room; he's wringing his hands. If Enj didn't know any better, he would say he was going through withdrawal, or something.

"Everything's great," Grantaire declares, a little too loudly. "Really, really great." Enjolras frowns.

"Are you sure?" he urges. "You've been really out of it lately; I just want to help." Grantaire makes a noise that is half-squeal, half-grunt.

"It's fine," he repeats. "It's all fine."

"Look, R, if I'm doing something to make you uncomfortable, we have to talk about it. Is it, is it about the reunion, because you've been a little weird when it comes up, and - "

"Jesus _fuck!"_ Grantaire bursts out, his smile looking deranged. "I don't want to talk about the fucking reunion, okay? I don't want to talk about all the drunk, homophobic assholes we'll see, or - " He pauses for breath, eyes still wild with anxiety and something Enjolras can't name. "Jesus _fuck,"_ he says again. "I need a drink."

He slams the door on his way out, and Enjolras sees again how his hands are shaking while he walks.

It's like he's going through withdrawal, or something.

  
_Oh._

*

When Grantaire inevitably comes back (he always comes back, always), Enjolras is sitting at the kitchen counter. He can smell the alcohol on his boyfriend's breath, and he wilts a little, not because he's surprised, but because he had hoped against hope that this part of everything was done. Grantaire leans heavily against the door, heaving deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself.

"I can't go to your reunion," he blurts before Enjolras can embark on his prepared remarks about trust and open communication in a relationship. "I'm sorry. I know it's important to you, but I realized that there's probably gonna be a lot of people drinking there, and - "

"And?" Enjolras prompts softly, his heart pounding more than he's willing to admit. If Grantaire is saying what he thinks he's saying, he doesn't know how to begin sifting through the happiness and relief he feels.

"And I've been talking to Joly," Grantaire continues, staring at the wall in front of him and looking queasy, not just because of the alcohol in his system, this time. "And we were - I was - I was thinking I might quit, now, like, for real this time, and - " His eyes screw shut, and he takes one more deep breath. "He thinks I should probably go to rehab, or a doctor, at least. So." He lets out a strangled laugh.

Enjolras has no idea what to say; he's wanted this, wanted the best, for Grantaire for such a long time, far longer than they've been together, but now that it's here he can hardly think, much less speak. He hopes R can see the love in his eyes, because that's his only way of communication, at least for the moment. Moved by some outside force, he walks over to him, stopping just in front of his feet.

"Sorry you won't be able to brag about your loser alcoholic boyfriend anymore," R laughs hesitantly, finally meeting his eyes. Enjolras frowns, and places a hand on each side of R's face, forcing him to keep the eye contact.

"Actually," he says carefully. "I've never been prouder of you in my whole life."

When he hugs him, Grantaire cries like it's something shocking, but nothing seems more obvious to Enjolras. He cannot imagine the bravery it takes to admit something like this, and he is already picturing his 25th reunion, showing with a boyfriend (husband, maybe, by then) who is healthy and whose eyes are bright and it will be hard but they will get there, because they're that good.

He thinks about the strength this will take. He thinks about his confidence that this will work out. He thinks about the advice he's heard thousands of times: high school reunions aren't a competition. Maybe not. But if they were, he and Grantaire would be winning.

 

* FIN *


End file.
